


Selfish

by indoorbutch



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch
Summary: Since they had found each other again, Carol was so… selfless. Solicitous. Eager to give and anxious never to ask too much. Had Therese somehow, in the bliss of the past six months, failed to impress upon her that Carol, too, could ask for what she wanted? That Carol, too, deserved adoration?
Relationships: Carol Aird/Therese Belivet
Comments: 28
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a horrid week. Well, maybe not horrid, but _long_ , and they had barely seen each other. This was mostly due to Carol’s work, because they had just gotten a new contract with an important buyer and everyone was working long hours. On Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday night, she didn’t get back to the apartment until after nine, which barely gave them time for a recap of the day and a kiss, before Carol wrapped her in her arms and fell asleep. 

On Thursday evening, there was a school recital for Rindy. At first Therese had planned to go, but then they learned that Harge and his parents would be there. Apart from not wanting there to be any unpleasantness on Rindy’s big night, Therese was genuinely concerned she might not be able to look at Harge without blowing a gasket.

She and Carol nearly fought over it. Carol said, “I’m not going to hide you from him! He knows that we’re living together and he knows he can’t do anything about it! You not coming just sets us back!”

She was pacing the kitchen and smoking angrily, and all her edges were sharp as knives.

“Carol,” Therese said calmly, “There’s a difference between hiding and picking our battles.”

“It shouldn’t be a battle at all!” Carol seethed, and went off to the bedroom to get ready, a blonde whirlwind of temper.

Therese thought it best to give her some space and retreated to her dark room for the evening. Carol left without saying goodbye, but that didn’t shatter Therese as it might have even a few weeks ago. It was six months since the Oak Room. It was two months since Therese had moved into the apartment on Madison Avenue. In that time, Carol had thrown herself into assuring Therese that she was cherished and loved and would not be abandoned again, and the message had stuck. This was the first time Carol had ever stormed off, but Therese had grown enough to see that it had nothing to do with her, and was all to do with Carol—who fought so hard and worked so hard and gave so much and still, _still_ must contend with Harge and his sanctimonious relatives and with a world that wanted to convince her she was a bad mother, a bad person, just—bad.

It made Therese’s heart break to think of it.

Later, she was reading in bed when Carol came home. Carol appeared in the doorway looking a little anxious and shy.

“How was it?” Therese asked.

“A herd of five-year-olds playing the recorder?” Carol asked. “Excruciating.”

That she could make a joke meant that the worst of the storm had passed. Therese smiled at her, putting the book aside. “Are you coming to bed?”

“Yes, in a moment, but—Darling, I’m sorry. I was so… terrible before I left. Do you forgive me?”

She was still standing apart, one arm crossed over her chest and holding the other arm, an embarrassed look in her eyes, which darted away as she waited for Therese to respond. There was something so… adorable about it that Therese couldn’t help smiling brighter.

“Yes, you were rather bratty, weren’t you?” she remarked.

Carol’s eyes were back on her in a flash, wide and startled as color flooded her cheeks, and _my_ but it was a lovely sight. Had anyone in all her life ever called Carol bratty? From the look on Carol’s face, no, and certainly not a lover—which gave the tease an illicit thrill. But Therese knew better than to tease her _too_ much, especially after such a week, so she patted the bed.

“It’s all right. Someday I swear I’ll kiss you in front of Harge’s parents just to spite them—but for now, I’m awfully tired. Come to bed.”

The color had deepened on Carol’s cheeks. Flustered, she began undressing, sending Therese one or two little glances. Therese knew there was something on her mind, something she wanted, but she couldn’t seem to say it and Therese didn’t want to press her. When she was down to her underwear she went into the bathroom. Therese listened to the shower come on and she rolled onto her side and let the sound of it soothe her. Tomorrow was Friday. They would have the weekend together, no work, no plans.

Carol was gone for a while, so long that Therese grew suspicious. When she finally came back into the room, wearing her nightgown and rubbing her hair dry with a towel, she was avoiding Therese’s stare, though she seemed calmer than before. She got into bed and Therese scooted up close to her, and that was when she saw her eyes.

They were heavy-lidded, glassy, the beautiful gray of them turned soft and sated in a way that Therese recognized. Suddenly Therese knew why Carol had been so long in the shower.

Goosebumps erupted across her skin; heat flashed through her pelvis and her lips parted and her fingers twitched to touch, but—

“Turn around, Angel,” Carol murmured sleepily. “Let me hold you.”

Too overwhelmed to argue, Therese did as she asked, and a moment later Carol was spooned against her, Therese’s bottom right against her lap. Therese imagined she could feel the heat, the warmth of Carol’s release. Carol wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. On other nights, this position had suffused Therese with comfort, had made her feel so safe that she slipped off into dreams within minutes. This time, however, her heart was racing, and her mind was racing, too, with possibilities.

What came to her first was a memory—of herself. It was the night after their first lunch date at Scotty’s. They already had another date scheduled, one that Therese wrote in her planner slowly and carefully as if she were penning a love letter. Therese felt shivery all over, a flutter in her chest and stomach that wouldn’t seem to go away. She kept thinking of Carol’s scent, of her hand adjusting the collar of her dress, of her dry smile and amused questions and moments of strange distance and melancholy. Therese went to bed, consumed with the memories of Carol. Covers tossed back and pajamas sticking damply to her skin, Therese stared at the ceiling and—couldn’t help herself. She imagined Carol’s hands on her shoulders; imagined her fingers sliding through her hair. Imagined them sliding lower, undressing her, _touching_ her. With a soft sigh Therese found her own hands mimicking the fantasy, taking it further. She didn’t do this often, too embarrassed, and she had never done it while thinking of a real person. But that turned out to be a crucial, stunning ingredient. Thinking of Carol, wanting Carol, wanting Carol’s hands and her mouth and her whole body, made Therese come alive under her own touch, til she was panting and thrashing and then locking up in the most exquisite release of her life.

Now, returning to the present, Therese marveled at herself for never considering that this was something Carol might do, as well. Perhaps she had not considered it because, subconsciously, she had always viewed it as something dirty, and secret. Something that only low-class girls like her would ever succumb to. Realizing that Carol touched herself threw the act itself into new and stunning relief. Suddenly it could not be dirty or low or wrong, because the image of Carol doing it was so exciting, so arousing, so— _beautiful_.

The past week came to her now as a progression of enticing clues. How agitated Carol had seemed, every morning. The glancing touches. The kisses goodbye that carried with them a low sound in the back of Carol’s throat. Carol’s gray eyes watching her almost rabidly as they got ready for bed, every night. Each time she had settled down, pulled Therese to her, fallen asleep so rapidly that it was clear how the week was weighing on her. But now, Therese saw all of it in a new light—saw that Carol had been wanting her, _needing_ her.

This realization suddenly heaped uncertainty onto arousal. Why hadn’t Carol come to her? If she needed her so, why not come to her in bed and kiss her and touch her as she had so many other nights, whipping them up into a storm of pleasure and release? Was she unhappy about something? Did she not trust Therese when she—

“Darling, relax,” mumbled Carol. “Didn’t you say you were tired?”

It was as if Carol, half asleep, had interpreted her question and delivered an answer. Therese’s stomach dropped with understanding. She had said that she was tired. She had teased Carol by calling her bratty, teased and aroused her, and then said, _‘I’m awfully tired. Come to bed.’_

Therese could have kicked herself. But more than that she wished Carol had come to her anyway. Since they had found each other again, Carol was so… selfless. Solicitous. Eager to give and anxious never to ask too much. She was a generous lover, intuitive, inventive, and always wanting Therese to know that her desires were welcome, that she could ask for what she wanted, that she deserved the adoration that was heaped on her. But did she not think this was true of herself, as well? Had Therese somehow, in the bliss of the past six months, failed to impress upon her that Carol, too, could ask for what she wanted? That Carol, too, deserved adoration?

“Shhh,” Carol said, soothing her, coaxing her.

This would all have to be dealt with, and soon. But then Carol began gently to stroke her fingers up and down Therese’s arm, an act that had always been like magic to Therese, like a drug, that she could not resist. And so almost in spite of herself she felt her own body relax, felt her eyelids grow heavy, felt herself slipping off to sleep—where she dreamt of Carol.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, as she drank a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, Carol flitting about the apartment gathering her things—she had an early meeting, and must leave in just a few minutes—Therese asked, “Do you still want to meet for lunch today?”

Carol froze in the kitchen doorway. She turned and looked at Therese with an expression that was almost comically abject.

“Oh… sweetheart,” she said, sounding mortified. “Oh, I forgot, I—there’s a luncheon. I told Dennis yesterday I could—oh!”

Therese smiled good naturedly. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not, I—I can’t believe it slipped my mind. I’ll find a way to cancel—”

“Don’t,” Therese stood up and went to her, worried that Carol was taking it all too seriously—her eyes darting, her body tight with a completely disproportionate anxiety. Therese put her hands on her waist, squeezing gently until at last Carol met her gaze. “Carol, it’s not important. We have the weekend.”

Carol looked only slightly mollified. “I’ve been neglecting you,” she said.

Therese’s brows drew together. “You haven’t—”

“Let me take you to dinner? To make up for it?”

Therese paused. She was becoming a little agitated herself, was beginning to think that there was something in Carol, a root of anxiety, that she had failed to see until now, and that was slowly strangling her. It was a terrible thought, but Therese refused to let it stand. She would cut that root out if she had to. She took a moment to make sure she was steady, and then stepped a little closer. She ran her hands gently up Carol’s arms. She touched her cheeks, and her delectable jawline, and tugged very softly at one of her curls, trying every trick she knew to soothe her lover. She rose up on the balls of her feet and hovered her mouth very close to Carol’s—heard Carol’s soft hitch of breath. That sound, of Carol’s excitement and desire, charged her with confidence. But she did not kiss her yet.

“I don’t want to go to dinner,” she murmured, _just_ brushing the bow of Carol’s bottom lip. “I don’t want to be anywhere I can’t touch you.”

Carol made another sound, and though she’d been almost frozen a moment ago now she put her hands on Therese’s hips, gripping. Therese nudged her open mouth against Carol’s, teasing her, and felt and heard her breathing quicken.

“I don’t care about lunch, do you understand? I don’t care about dinner. I only want you. Tonight. I _want_ you.”

“Therese—” Carol moaned.

And because it was clear what she wanted, what she needed, Therese gave it, pressing forward like a swimmer who flows into the water, deep and wet all in an instant. She held the back of Carol’s neck and Carol tugged her flush against her body and they kissed— _desperately_. Therese let Carol control it, let her take what she needed, with her lips and her tongue and her hands. It might have been seconds or minutes that they stood there, hungrily and helplessly kissing.

When they finally broke for air Therese gasped, “You’ll be late.”

“Fuck the job,” muttered Carol, kissing her again.

This time Therese laughed into her mouth, pulling back but letting Carol kiss her face and her throat and the spot behind her ear that made her shiver and arch.

“How shall we keep you in all these nice clothes if you’re fired?”

Carol drew back. Her mouth was swollen and red, her cheeks flushed, her eyes a little wild, and she was breathing hard. She asked, “When will you be done today?”

“By 5:30, I think.”

“I’ll come straight home, all right?”

“Yes, please.”

Another kiss, hard and promising. Then at last Carol pulled herself away, which seemed to take all the effort of uprooting a tree. Looking attractively frazzled, she reached for her purse that was sitting on the table, gave Therese a last, molten look, and was gone.

<><><>

Therese had come a long way from the girl in Frankenburg’s, the girl to whom Carol was an endlessly preoccupying enigma. She flattered herself that she knew Carol pretty well after almost a year—could see through her bluster and her performances, could interpret her silences, could often guess her thoughts. But it was quite clear now that she still had a lot to learn. She hadn’t known that Carol touched herself (a delightful realization; she flushed just thinking of it). She also hadn’t known that Carol apparently denied herself what she needed at the slightest chance it might displease or inconvenience Therese.

This must all stop. Starting tonight. But Therese could admit she was a little out of her depth, so before leaving for _The_ _Times_ , she called Abby.

“I want to do something special,” she explained. Then, as if it weren’t already obvious, she added, “For Carol.”

She and Abby, like she and Carol, had come a long way with time. While in the early days there had been a tension between them, the tension of rivals, all that was water under the bridge now. They were friends—not in the deep and intimate way that Carol and Abby were friends, but there was warmth and humor between them, and the thing they shared, loving Carol, was a powerful bond.

Over the line, she heard Abby take a drag on a cigarette and let it out, clearly thinking, before all at once she said, “Lingerie.”

Therese’s eyes widened. She gripped the receiver, blushing all over. She had expected Abby to say something tame, like, oh—what did women like anyway? Flowers?

“Really?” she squeaked.

Abby chuckled in a rich and knowing way. “Believe me, kid.”

But the words made Therese awkward. She didn’t particularly mind the fact that Carol and Abby had been lovers, but she didn’t particularly like to think about it, either. So she wasn’t sure why she asked, in a small voice, “Did you ever—?”

Abby blurted a laugh. “Don’t be a stupe! With her married to Harge and the two of us sneaking around like teenagers? When would we have had time for lingerie? Besides, it was never my thing. No, you asked what _you_ could do for her, that would be special. And I’m telling you. She’ll lose her damn mind.”

Therese thought she must be the color of a tomato by now. But she was determined to keep her dignity with Abby.

“All right, then,” she said. “Well… Thank you.”

She could hear the grin in Abby’s voice, could hear how delighted she was with herself. “Any time. Have fun.”

They hung up.

On her lunch break (fortuitously free), Therese found a discrete shop not too far away and went inside like an inept burglar. She was embarrassed, uncertain—but determined. The shopkeeper, probably smelling fear, fixed on her in an instant. Started asking her about fabrics and styles. At first Therese was mortified, not having any idea what to say. But then the woman, about her own age, took pity on her.

“This is for your beau, I’m guessing?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

Therese cleared her throat. “Uh… yes.”

“All right. What’s his favorite color on you?”

Therese barely had to pause to think, “Green,” she said, and smiled with a potent surge of relief, realizing she knew something, after all.

The shopgirl grinned. “All right then. And with your figure? Let me see… Go into that changing room back there. I’m going to bring you some things.”

She brought all sorts of things, in all sorts of fabrics and styles and shades of green. It wasn’t that Therese was ignorant of any of the pieces—she was wearing things like them right now, under her dress. Except so _unlike_ them. So plain and practical. These things, that the shopgirl brought her, were delicate and soft to the touch, felt expensive and felt special. They were like something _Carol_ would wear, and the thought was so incredibly provocative that for a moment, in the changing room, Therese was too distracted to focus.

“How’s it coming?” asked the woman from beyond the curtain.

“I—uh—yes—good. Just a moment.”

Therese got undressed. She went through a few things, flustered and unsure, before coming all at once to a jewel-toned set that stopped her short. It was all lace and satin—a merry widow corselet and matching panties. Therese put them on and looked at herself in the mirror, blinking. She had always viewed her own body as so… uninteresting. She was short, and skinny, with small breasts and, she thought, little in the way of curves. It had stunned her, the first night she and Carol slept together, how Carol looked at her and touched her and marveled over her body, as if she were the pinnacle of beauty. And this coming from Carol! Carol, who was all curves, her hips and trim waist creating the perfect hourglass, her breasts heavy and round, and her long, shapely legs…

“Doing all right, honey? Need help with anything?” called the shopgirl again.

Therese jumped, coming back to herself with an, “Almost finished!” before once again observing the woman in the mirror. The strapless corselet pushed up her breasts and shaped her waist and hips. She took the time to clip the garter snaps to her stockings, and suddenly her legs looked long and elegant. The green color was vibrant against her fair skin, and it brought out her eyes, which seemed like two emeralds glinting at her. What was it Abby had said on the phone?

_‘She’ll lose her damn mind.’_

Slowly, a grin crept across Therese’s face, half-embarrassed, half-delighted. That sounded lovely.

When she came out of the changing room, dressed again and holding the set, the shopgirl smirked, leading her to the register.

“Good choice,” she declared, ringing Therese up. It was expensive, but Therese didn’t care. The woman said, “Your fella sure is in for a treat.”

Sometimes, when strangers assumed that Therese had a boyfriend, it bothered her, because she couldn’t correct them. Couldn’t tell them about Carol—something she found she always wanted to do. She wanted to tell everyone about Carol. Wanted all the world to know about this exquisite woman who was hers and only hers. Not being able to correct the people who thought there was a man left Therese irritable and depressed. Today, however, the shopgirl’s error brought an illicit thrill. Carol, and their love, was a secret, something for just the two of them, like the lingerie that she would wear tonight.

“Well, I can see you’re besotted,” grinned the woman. “This must be some guy. What’s his name?”

Therese couldn’t help herself.

“Carol,” she smiled.

“Carol? Really. Strange name for a man.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Even so—lucky guy!”

Therese beamed, accepting her parcel. She almost said, “I’m the lucky one,” but was too shy. Instead she thanked her, and went out of the shop. 

But as she walked back to work, her purchase discretely wrapped and tucked into her handbag, she found all she could think about was that word, ‘lucky.’ Because she _was_ lucky, as she’d never dreamed she could be. She was so lucky she began to wonder if her luck had come at a cost, one she hadn’t anticipated. In the beginning, after that fateful reconnection in the Oak Room, Therese had carried her share of uncertainties. Even after Carol explained what had happened in the lawyer’s office, even after Carol told her she loved her, Therese found it hard to trust. While half her heart tugged her desperately toward Carol and the apartment on Madison Avenue, the other half was wary, afraid to lose again.

Carol had responded with overwhelming gentleness and understanding. She accepted that Therese would not move in, and set herself the task of winning Therese’s trust again. What followed were weeks and months of tenderness, of passion, of promises made and kept. Little gifts. Expensive dinners. Nights when Therese thought she would pass out from the intensity of their lovemaking—nights she had to push Carol away because she couldn’t take any more.

She had loved it. More than that, she was _starved_ for it. Raised in the emotional vacuum of the orphanage, abandoned by her mother and later by Carol, Therese had never realized just how badly she needed to be cherished. Carol’s devotion filled a void in her, and she took what Carol gave—not just willingly but with almost delirious gratitude.

But now, after last night, and then this morning, she began to wonder how much guilt had driven Carol in these months. She thought of Carol’s reaction after having to cancel their lunch date. Thought of her anger when Harge got in the middle of their plans with Rindy. Did Carol really think such things were so terrible? Or did she fear that _Therese_ would think them terrible? Hold them against her? _Leave_ her?

It was unbearable to her that in all this time that Carol had been bringing her comfort and security, she herself had been _insecure_ , had denied _herself_ comfort, that Therese was so eager to give. Love shouldn’t be like that. It shouldn’t be anxious like that. Therese’s needs should never be valued more highly than Carol’s. Carol’s needs were… beautiful and precious and worthy, and Therese wanted to fulfill them, whenever she could.

And just the thought of Carol’s needs had Therese slipping away into daydreams again. Her mind swam with the memory of Carol’s eyes after her shower, their soft warmth, the satiation in her body that Therese herself loved to be the cause of. Whatever Carol had done in the shower, it was private, was her own—and yet Therese found she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about it. She imagined the water pouring over Carol’s naked body in warm sheets. She imagined Carol washing herself, perfunctory, and then stalling. Slowing. Becoming intentional. No longer washing but stroking and plucking and teasing as all the desire of the week caught up to her. How must Carol have done it? Perhaps she pressed a hand against the shower wall, leaned her face into the cool tiles as she put her other hand between her legs. Or maybe she braced her back against the wall and put one foot up on the edge of the tub. Did she go inside, her long fingers reaching? Or did she only rub herself in firm, quick circles as she’d taught Therese to do? Did she let herself take what she needed? Did she let herself be selfish, thinking of her own pleasure alone, until it crested in a rush?

The images that went through Therese’s mind were scandalous, yes, but more than that—they were _beautiful_. Because Carol was so beautiful, and her pleasure was so beautiful, and Therese had the sudden thought that if Carol was touching herself while Therese watched, then Therese’s hands and body would be free, and she could reach for her camera where it sat on the night stand. She could look at Carol through the lens and take pictures of Carol, like _that_. Immortalize her in her most ethereal state. And then, if Carol was ever gone, had to go out of town for one night or two, Therese would have those pictures. So much better than the pinup magazines she’d spied in Richard’s closet, and the Playboy magazine poking out from under Dannie’s bed. So much better, because it would be Carol, and Therese could lie in their bed and look at those pictures and slide a hand into—

“Hey, Belivet!”

She jumped, looking up. It was Tom, from the research department. Somehow, she’d ended up back at the office, and Tom was coming in at the same time she was.

“Gosh,” he said, “You all right? You looked miles away!”

Therese hoped furiously that he would take her red cheeks as a sign of the brisk October afternoon. She was grateful that he didn’t wait for an explanation but started chattering about work as they went up the stairs together. _‘Get a grip,’_ Therese told herself, glancing down at the watch on her wrist. _‘You’ve got four hours to go.’_


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Therese got back to the apartment, she was in a state. She had barely been able to concentrate all day, had made mistakes, had found herself thinking constantly of Carol’s body and Carol’s mouth and Carol’s heavy, devouring stare… She was wet, had been for hours, and her anxiousness for Carol felt like a fever.

She had grabbed Carol’s favorite take-out on the way home, and set the cartons of Chinese food quickly on the table. It was 5:15. She practically flew to the washroom, showering as quickly as she ever had, drying off even faster. In their bedroom, her hands trembled with excitement as she took off her clothes and put on the lingerie set. On a whim, she reached for Carol’s perfume, not the scent Harge had bought her, but a different kind that they had tried out together, months ago, in the Presidential suite of a the McKinley Motel in Canton, Ohio.

_‘Would mademoiselle be so kind as to apply to her pulse points only?’_

Therese did this now, thoughts hazy with the memory of Carol moaning, _‘Oh, that’s divine. Smell that,’_ and of herself, leaning forward into the crook of Carol’s gorgeous throat, breathing her in and feeling the warmth of her skin for the first time…

On the hook by the door hung the lovely silk robe Carol had got her for her birthday—also green. She put it on, and went back into the kitchen, meaning to take out plates and set the table.

She heard the front door open. Heard it slam shut. Heard Carol’s heels clacking hard and purposeful against the wood flooring, and then Carol swept into the room, like a ship at full sail. But the moment she saw Therese, she stopped short. They both stopped short, and stared at each other.

Carol was flushed. Her lips were barely parted. Her eyes had the same wild look they’d had this morning, when she left the apartment. Those eyes swept down the robe like a hunter sighting prey, and then swept right back up, landing on Therese’s face with an expression of almost ferocious hunger. Therese’s own eyes widened; she felt her pulse picking up, felt her breaths coming a little faster. She had thought, a nice dinner, time to talk, to share the realizations she’d had today, to coax Carol gently into confiding in her. But—

“Have you eaten?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

Carol looked at the table, brow furrowing. She looked momentarily torn, said, “Are you hungry?”

Therese swallowed, “Not now, no.”

“Neither am I.”

Therese nodded, breathing in, and Carol flew at her.

They met in the center of the kitchen, Therese reaching for her face and Carol’s arms reaching around her to pull her in, pull her tight. Their lips met with bruising force, a moan already caught in Therese’s throat as she opened her mouth and let Carol’s tongue press and wrestle her own. The sensations went through her in a shockwave. Wet, and urgent, and yet somehow still deep with tenderness, as if Carol were worshiping her mouth, worshiping her body, that she grabbed at, desperately.

“The bedroom,” Carol panted.

They made their way in clumsy stops and starts, unable to break from kissing, unable to let go of each other. In the hallway Carol pressed her up against the wall and reached for the tie at her waist but Therese had just enough awareness to stop her hands.

“No,” she gasped, “Not—not yet.”

“Why, Ms. Belivet,” Carol purred, “What are you hiding under there?”

Therese answered by kissing her, by pushing off the wall and tugging them to the bedroom. When they got inside, she reached for Carol’s hands, gripping her wrists and pulling her arms away and slipping free. Carol’s eyes opened, blinking fuzzily, pupils dilated. Therese took a step back and when Carol made to move forward again, she held up a hand. She refused to have all her plans scuppered just because she became a lust-sick fool the moment Carol touched her.

“Wait,” she said.

Carol waited, though she didn’t look happy about it. She looked as worked up as Therese had ever seen her, breathing hard and watching her with predatory fixation. Therese kept moving back, until she was beside the bed. She was nervous, but seeing the want in Carol’s eyes gave her courage. She reached with shaking hands for the ties on the robe, pulling the sides apart, and then she let it all pool on the floor around her feet.

Carol’s jaw dropped open, a sound catching in her throat. Her eyes ran all over Therese, as tangible as a caress. When she finally looked into Therese’s eyes again, her own were black with lust.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

_Lose her mind, indeed._

Therese let the reaction lend her power. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced behind her, and looked at Carol for a long moment.

“Carol,” she murmured. “I want something, tonight.”

“Anything,” Carol said at once.

Therese smiled, her veins flowing with excitement and delight. This was what she hoped for: Carol, uninhibited, desperate, needy.

“Take off your clothes,” Therese said. 

Carol did, moving with an uncharacteristically undignified rapidity, stripping off her skirt and jacket, the blouse underneath, and then, her underwear. Something simple today—just a shift over her bra and panties, both of which were a vibrant red that looked delicious before she slipped them off. She stood up straight again, sweeping a hand through her golden hair to push it out of her face. Therese looked at her body, the gorgeous curves of her, her stomach with its soft bump, her hip bones sharp, her thighs so long and muscular, and her breasts—God. Therese’s mouth watered, just at the sight of her breasts.

Carol was clearly trying to be patient, but after several moments of Therese just looking at her, she made a noise that was very close to a whine. Therese met her eyes again, and then, sitting up a little straighter, she patted her lap.

“Come here,” she murmured.

Carol’s nostrils flared, and again she obeyed, slipping forward and straddling Therese on the bed. Their mouths slid together again; they moaned and kissed and Carol touched her wherever she could reach, running her hands over the bodice of the merry widow, cupping Therese’s breasts that were pushed up scandalously. And Therese, thinking she had the better side of the deal, touched Carol back, all over her smooth, warm skin, all over her nakedness, until Carol broke the kiss enough to pant her name.

“Therese,” she said. “Angel. You look… and you smell—fuck—is that the bottle from Canton? God, you’re divine. Let me touch you. Let me look at you.”

“Not just yet,” Therese said, a prim note to her voice that made Carol draw back and look at her in a confusion of want and need. She was so pretty like this, flushed and longing. Therese breathed in, gathering all her resolve for what came next, and said gently, “Carol… you’ve needed me terribly this week, haven’t you?”

Carol blinked, obviously startled, but the lust-drunk look in her eyes didn’t dissipate, and that was good. Therese went on, “I know you have. I know you needed me… last night, didn’t you? Needed me to touch you? To make you feel good? Isn’t that why you took your shower?”

Carol’s throat moved in a convulsive swallow so delicious that Therese lifted up and kissed her there. They both knew better than to leave marks on each other’s necks, but that didn’t preclude Therese opening her mouth and raking her teeth down the pale column, a move that made Carol shudder, that distracted her momentarily from her obvious embarrassment.

“It’s all right,” Therese murmured, humming the words against Carol’s throat as she ran her hands, slowly and soothingly, up and down Carol’s back. This was an unusual position for them, and Therese decided they would have to make more use of it, going forward. “Carol, it’s all right. Just thinking about it, about you, like that—God, I’ve been a wreck, all day.” Carol didn’t say anything, but Therese could sense a shyness in her, a tension through her shoulders that only melted when Therese reached up again and pulled her hungrily back to her mouth. Kissing her deeply, swallowing the sound she made when Therese’s hands moved forward and touched her nipples, gently.

“Therese,” she gasped.

“You are so good to me,” Therese murmured. “You are always so good to me. You give me everything I want. But sometimes I worry that… you put your own needs aside because of what you think _I_ need.”

“Therese, I—”

“And that’s why I want you to do something different tonight,” Therese said, pulling back and looking directly into Carol’s eyes. “Would you?”

Carol looked apprehensive, but Therese was still gently playing with her nipples, keeping her aroused, keeping her drunk with need, so after a moment, she nodded. Therese gave her her most beatific, dimpled smile.

Then she said, “I want you to be selfish.” 

This time, Carol flinched, and it wasn’t pleasure—it was pain, and regret, and grief. But Therese had expected this. She ran her hands up into Carol’s hair in the way she knew Carol liked.

“I know,” she said soothingly. “I know you think you’ve been selfish. I know you regret… so much. But Carol, there’s nothing to regret anymore. You are the most selfless, the most generous and beautiful person I know. You’ve made me feel like the most precious thing in the world.”

“You are,” Carol moaned, leaning forward to kiss her again, “Darling, you are.”

“Then indulge me,” Therese said.

Carol still looked uncertain, “I—”

“All I want,” Therese murmured, slipping a hand down from her breasts, toward the heat between her legs, “is for you to take what you need.” She found Carol’s wetness, felt Carol’s whole body shudder as she began to softly touch her, glancing nudges to her clit, and teasing strokes through the wettest part of her, though she didn’t go inside. Carol’s hands landed on her shoulder, clenching as she began to rock, almost unconsciously. Therese stared at her in awe as her eyes slipped shut and her head tipped back, and she moaned, brokenly. “That’s it,” Therese cooed, rubbing a little more firmly, knowing the exact amount of pressure that would wind her up, but take her no farther. “You’ve been so good. You’re _so_ good, Carol. Now tell me what you need. Go on. You can do it.”

“In—” Carol gasped, cutting off, thighs and belly flexing as she arched against Therese’s teasing fingers. “P-p-please.”

“Yes?” Therese coaxed. “Tell me.”

For a moment Carol’s body seemed to fight her. Her mouth opened and closed and her face was a rictus of agonized pleasure. Then, on a shuddering exhale, “In-in-side,” she said. “Therese, please, please, in-inside me.”

Instantly, Therese reached down, sliding in and crooking forward.

“Oh!” Carol cried, and came.


	4. Chapter 4

It was like that sometimes. Not often, but sometimes—usually after she had spent a good deal of time making love to Therese, making her come more than once, as she liked to do. Then, sometimes, Carol was so aroused herself from watching and feeling it that just the sensation of Therese’s fingers entering her sent her careening into a quick and ferocious orgasm, and all Therese could do was watch her in amazement and joy.

Now, coming down from it, Carol’s whole body was filmed with sweat; she was shivering and whimpering with a helplessness that Therese had rarely seen before, and when she raised a hand to push the hair out of her eyes, her fingers trembled. All of her trembled, including her sex, which after those four or five hard clenches of release, was now soft and molten and fluttering around Therese’s fingers. 

“Oh, Carol,” Therese moaned.

Carol’s eyes finally opened. They were hazy with pleasure—but not with satiation. They still shone with the hunger of her need, and Therese’s stomach swooped. Carol stared down at her, her face very serious, thinking, considering, weighing—and then her thighs flexed as she lifted up, and came down again.

 _‘Yes!’_ Therese thought, and pressed in deep, and Carol’s breath hitched. _‘Yes yes yes.’_

“Keep going,” Therese told her. “Go on. Take what you need.” 

Carol’s eyes flamed. She reached for Therese’s face, kissing her, almost sobbing into her mouth as they began to move together, Carol rising and falling, and Therese a perfect counterpoint, pushing into her. The rhythm of it came easily, like breathing together. Carol was so wet and open between her legs that after a short time, Therese drew out and entered her again with three fingers, loving the deep, throaty sound Carol made.

In this position, it was easy to lean forward and take Carol’s nipple in her mouth. It was easy to bite her collarbones. Easy to find the soft curve of her breast and suck until a dark flower of bruising bloomed on her fair skin. The position might be a little hard on her wrist, but Therese didn’t care, because now Carol was gasping on every breath, was rising and falling faster, was clawing at Therese’s shoulders.

“Oh, yes,” she gasped, “Oh, yes—please—”

Therese felt a sympathetic throbbing in her own sex, could imagine very well how good it felt to be full like this, full and aching. It was something Therese wanted, almost every time. But Therese had also never come just from this—she needed Carol’s attention on her clit before she could tip over into orgasm. Carol, however—Carol could come from this, and was going to, soon.

“Carol,” Therese moaned, pressing a little deeper, a little harder, as Carol’s hips rocked faster and faster into her hand, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“Just like that,” Carol sobbed. “I’m—I’m—”

Her voice cut off. Her head tossed back, eyes slamming shut. A lightning bolt seemed to go through her whole body, and inside she was rippling and squeezing and running with moisture. Therese felt it leaking down her wrist, knew it would stain the expensive lingerie, and didn’t care at all. She only wanted more of it. Wanted it on her fingers—wanted it in her mouth.

“Come here,” she gasped, even as Carol was barely coming down. She gently pulled her fingers out, sympathetic to Carol’s soft whimper. She began to scoot back on the bed, maneuvering Carol with her. She lay back and grabbed at Carol’s thighs, squeezing hard until her lover managed to open her eyes enough to look at her, to understand, “Come here,” Therese said again, her own voice desperate.

“Oh, God,” Carol said, but it was clear she needed more, because she moved forward swiftly, eagerly. She let Therese guide her in climbing up her body, until her thighs were on either side of Therese’s head and her hands were gripped around the headboard. As soon as Therese lifted up and licked into her, she cried out.

Oh, she was delicious. Her taste was so good: rich and heavy, tart but also sweet. Therese could never lick her like this without thinking of the first time. Not Waterloo, where she had only used her fingers, but the Drake. Everything had been so complicated that night, so fraught, both of them strung tight with anxiety and need. Carol had been desperate for her, and Therese had been desperate to show her—her love, her devotion, her desire. She’d crawled down Carol’s long and trembling body and parted her thighs and, without pausing to consider any of her own uncertainty, pressed her mouth against her. That first taste was what heroin must feel like, bliss flooding her mouth, flooding her brain and every nerve in her body, and her moan had been nearly as loud as Carol’s.

It was like that now. Bliss. She licked into Carol, licked where her fingers had been moments ago, the hot wet source of her. Had she ever been this wet before? She was dripping into Therese’s mouth, and Therese was determined to take everything. She licked and sucked and held Carol’s thighs in a death grip, helping to hold her up. Because it was clear from the first touch that Carol could barely stay upright. She was so loud, louder than usual, her body rocking and bending and arching.

Still, Therese couldn’t help pulling back for a moment, just far enough to ask her, “Is it good? Does it feel good?”

Carol made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, it—it—”

Therese moaned into her, let the vibration of it flood Carol’s whole body, and now every breath Carol took seemed to be a sob.

“Oh, Angel, I—”

“What?” Therese asked. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it—it—it feels so good but I—I need—”

“What do you need? This?”

Therese moved her mouth up, circling her tongue around the hard and aching point of Carol’s clit. Carol nearly shrieked, and Therese moved back down to her entrance, licking into her again.

“Y—yes!” Carol gasped. “I—please—more!”

But Therese was so ravenous for her, didn’t want to give up the sharp taste of her, and suddenly she had an idea. A thought so devilish, so sinful, that her own body shivered.

“I can’t do both,” she said, tone almost dry.

Carol moaned desperately, “Oh, Therese, _please_ —”

“Touch yourself,” Therese said—begged—ordered. She moved her hands, grabbing Carol’s ass, digging in with her fingers. “You can do it—touch yourself.”

If the request scandalized her, embarrassed her, it was clear that Carol was too far gone to offer resistance. Only a few moments passed before Therese felt her shifting, felt her let go of the headboard with one hand, and then reach between her legs. When she pressed her fingers against her clit, beginning at once to rub in circles, Therese whimpered. Therese squeezed her own thighs together, throbbing, overwhelmed. Even like this, even with so much obscured from her position, Therese caught glimpses of Carol’s face, and the pleasure there was excruciating, utterly uninhibited, free. Therese focused again on the wettest part of her, and they moved like this, in tandem. All Therese could hear, smell, taste, feel, was Carol. And she never wanted it to end.

Except that when it did—oh—that was even better. Carol’s fingers rubbed faster and faster, tighter and tighter, Therese’s tongue inside her tasting more and more, until her gasping cries rose to a crescendo. Suddenly, she gave a shout. She started bucking and thrashing, and Therese had to wrap her arms around her thighs and hold her hard just to keep her mouth on her. The brightness of it, the intensity, seemed to go on and on. After a few moments Carol stopped touching herself and used both hands again to grip the headboard, still violently trembling and rocking into Therese’s mouth.

“Oh, my love,” she whimpered, sounding delirious. “I love you. I love you.” 

Gradually, Therese gentled her tongue, gentled her grip. Ran her tongue in slow soothing licks over her sex, careful not to touch where she was oversensitive. A few more moments, and Carol gave a last hard shudder, and then slid off her, collapsing onto her side on the bed with a hand over her eyes. Therese turned onto her side as well, scooting closer so that she could touch Carol’s hip.

After a long time, Carol, still with her eyes shut, moved closer as well, burying her face in Therese’s throat. Therese wrapped her in her arms, ran her hands over her, comforting. They didn’t say anything. Sometimes, afterwards, Carol would be too overwhelmed to speak, would need the silence. And tonight, Carol got whatever she needed.

But the silence didn’t last long.

“My God,” Carol groaned, voice hoarse, and blissfully relaxed.

It sent a shiver of pleasure down Therese’s spine, made her feel proud and _gleeful_ , til she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Was it all right?” she asked.

Carol chuckled throatily, “Oh, Darling… It was… you are… _wicked_.”

A moment later, and Carol was raising up on one elbow, looking down at her with eyes very much like the eyes she’d had after her shower last night—but imbued now with a glimmer of mischief. She ran her gaze down Therese’s body, ran her hand up her stockinged thigh, to one of the garter clips that had come undone during their lovemaking.

“Wherever have you been keeping this?” she murmured.

“I bought it today. For you.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Lucky me.”

 _‘Lucky guy!’_ the shopgirl had said.

Therese grinned again. For a moment they just looked at each other, just grinned, like fools. Then slowly Therese’s grin became a soft smile, full of all the adoration she felt, and she reached up to cup Carol’s chin.

“I want you to feel lucky,” she whispered. “I want you to… have what you need, not only to think of me. I want it to be equal between us, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sweetheart,” Carol sighed, with such a depth of love and devotion. “I… understand. I’ll try, all right? It might… You might need to remind me, sometimes, but I will try.”

Therese giggled, “Oh, believe me, if reminding you feels like this, that won’t be any trouble at all.”

Then she got that rarest and most delightful of surprises—Carol, blushing. She looked so young like this—young, and sweet, and in love. She leaned down, kissing Therese, and that was the sweetest thing of all. Therese kissed her back. First it was slow, and deep, and tender, but after a moment a new heat came into it, until Therese felt the banked embers of her own arousal start to crackle with life. She told herself to calm down, to not be distracted by her own need, but—

“Now,” Carol purred. “Speaking of equality…”

She slid on top of her. Therese said, “Oh, Carol, no—that was—that was just for you. I wanted it to be for you.”

Carol chuckled, and the sound of it was absolutely sinful.

“But Dearest,” she murmured, nosing up under Therese’s ear, scraping her teeth against that perfect, sensitive spot. “Didn’t you say that I should take what I needed tonight? Didn’t you say I should be selfish?”

“I—” Therese arched, gasped, could hardly think, let alone speak, “I—I suppose—”

“Well, then. Let’s have no more arguing. I’m feeling so… _selfish_ right now. And I don’t want to lose our theme…”


End file.
